


Double Tap

by Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin



Category: Original Work
Genre: A tiny action drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin/pseuds/Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin
Summary: In a city of neon lights and pulsing music, a meeting is cut short.





	Double Tap

**Author's Note:**

> Just messing around in a little cyberpunk setting of mine. Was listening to some dope tunes and wanted to write some action, what can I say?

He dropped through the skylight just as the beat kicked in. Music blared through his headphones while shards of glass glittered in the flashing lights around him. Time slowed for him, and he took the opportunity to train his pistol on his first target. Kit pulled the trigger twice, and half a second later his feet hit the ground just as the mobster did. Rolling into the inertia, he sprang up several feet from his landing and tackled another target. The poor bastard barely had time to stumble before Kit ignited a dagger and buried it through his lower jaw. As they fell, he turned his attention on the rest of the room. Five mobsters left, still recovering from the shock of having their little meeting interrupted. 

Kit put two bullets through one of their hearts. The mobster unlucky enough to have just caught his knife hit the floor, his body breaking the fall and allowing Kit to leap away effortlessly. He vaulted over a couch, just in time for one of the others to finally snap out of their shock and start shooting. Of course, the mobster was still too slow, and the only thing he hit was his dying comrade. Without missing a beat, Kit rolled to his feet on the other side of the couch, crouched over the cover, and fired two more rounds. The first shot caught the mobster in the forehead, and the other between his eyes. One of the others dropped to a knee and started firing her pistol wildly, but her companion made a run for the door. 

Despite her clear panic, she managed to get close a couple of times. Not close enough. In one motion, Kit dove clear of the couch and put three rounds center-mass, tossing her on her back as she wheezed and rattled her last breaths. By then, the last mobster was only a couple feet from the door. And Kit was fresh out of bullets. In the blink of a human eye, he was back on his feet. Leaping over a glass coffee table and sprinting full-tilt across the VIP room. Just as the mobster reached for the door handle, he was tackled into it. Their bodies slamming against the wood so hard something cracked. 

The mobster struggled, but only for a second before Kit ignited another blade and buried it in the base of his spine, then his side, over and over. All the panicked, desperate grunting became startled cries, then stifled gasps, and eventually silence. For the sake of being thorough, Kit slit his throat before stepping back. His body crumpled to the ground, fresh wounds steaming from the fresh, cauterized wounds. 

And Kit stood alone in a room full of corpses. He dialed his music down, noting he hadn’t even finished the first song on his playlist as he turned around. If any of his targets had survived the initial attack, their wounds had done the job of finishing them off. The VIP room was completely still, and almost entirely silent aside from the thumping of music through the walls. Kit glanced up at the skylight, then over his shoulder at the door.   
One of the exits required a lot more climbing than the other. 

Kit reloaded his pistol, kicked the mobster’s corpse out of the way, and opened the door. A short hallway greeted him on the other end, with several more VIP rooms on the right and a wall of windows on the left. Through them, he had a perfect view of the dancefloor. The crowd bumping and bouncing to pulsing music, multicolor lights flashing and glittering. He closed the door behind himself and started down the hall. Briefly considering getting a drink on his way out. Maybe another time.

At the end of the hall, Kit opened the door and found himself staring at a pair of bouncers in dark suits. They glanced down at him, and for a moment he thought he might have to add two more to his count for the night, but they seemed to understand he wasn’t worth the trouble and turned forward. As if they hadn’t seen a thing. He stepped between them, descended the stairs, and walked out onto the first floor. 

Nobody so much as glanced at him on his way out. Which was probably for the best, because an armed man in a mask would have probably raised a few alarms, and not everyone was as smart as the bouncers upstairs. When he walked out into the night again, Kit turned his music back on, glanced left and right, and headed down the alley where he left his bike. 

He was home two songs later.


End file.
